


cradled in love

by wreckmyplans



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animated GIFs, Blow Jobs, Dean Winchester Has Feelings, Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Embedded Images, Embedded Video, Established Dean Winchester/Reader, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Gifset, Inspired by GIFs, One Shot, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckmyplans/pseuds/wreckmyplans
Summary: You and Dean Winchester stop at a motel during a case and break in your room.(Literally no plot it's just porn and feelings)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	cradled in love

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW gifs ahead, beware.
> 
> Also, I really tried to write porn without feelings but apparently I can't help myself, so enjoy this pile of fluff and smut. 
> 
> Title is from the song Cradled in Love by Poets of the Fall.

The motel hall winds up to your room, and the two of you hurry through it. You’ve spent the whole day in the car, and you really just want a soft bed and a warm shower — surely Dean wants the same, although his ability to be content just driving that car all day amazes you still, not that you would ever tell him that. It seems that Dean isn’t tired at all, though; his hands are on you before you even unlock the door, grasping your waist and pulling your body flush against his. Laughing, you bat him away half-heartedly and say, “We have research to do, babe. We’re here for a reason.”

He groans deliciously low in your ear, nipping at your earlobe as you push open the door in an attempt to not get arrested for public indecency, although this man just existing in public is enough to condemn the both of you for it already. “It’s late. The case can wait a day,” he growls, lips traveling down along your neck. “I’m sure the townspeople would understand.” 

“Understand what? Your insatiable libido?” you tease, dragging him into the room and shutting the door behind you. Your back hits the hardwood of the door suddenly, and you gasp as Dean’s arms cage you in against it. His long, dark eyelashes glint mischievously in the moonlight that floods in from the open window.

“They’ll understand why you can’t walk straight when we do interviews tomorrow. They’ll look at you, and then me, and just _know_ how well I treat you _,_ ” he murmurs, a sureness in his voice that makes your muscles ache with adoration and tense with need. He leans in closer, breath fanning across your ear once more, and whispers. “Besides, this motel is seedy. I can smell it in the air. It’s practically _begging me_ to fuck you.”

The breath catches in your throat. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, clenching your thighs together. Your hands itch to reach out towards him, but you keep them at your side. Dean seems to appreciate your self-control, a satisfied half-smile turning his lips up at the corners. 

“Good girl,” he praises, running a hand along the top of your head. His fingers twist into your hair, and he tugs softly. The gentle pressure makes you hum, content. He slides his other hand up your leg, and you say a silent prayer of gratitude that you wore a skirt this morning. 

A trail of warmth travels with his fingers along the skin of your inner thigh, but he stops half-way up. You let out a small whine. “Dean—”

“Be patient,” he chides, pulling his hand away, “or I’ll stop now.”

“Don’t,” you whisper, placing a hand over his to keep it on your thigh. “Please.”

He regards you for a minute with dark eyes, pupils blown out to the extreme, and a jolt runs through your back. Eventually, he yanks his hand out from under yours, having made his decision. Your face must fall because he tilts your chin up and smiles reassuringly. “Go sit on the bed.”

Swallowing thickly, you nod and hurry to the bed. It’s surprisingly large for the small room, big enough to fit the two of you comfortably, and you’re momentarily distracted by the softness of the duvet. Maybe you should wonder why such a “seedy” motel seems to invest so much into the beds, but you don’t quite want to think about it. Instead, you focus on the fact that you’re truly alone with Dean, for the first time in ages — no matter how much you love Sam, he can put a bit of a damper on your sex life at times. 

Dean’s arms circle your shoulders, turning you to face him and pressing you down to sit on the bed. “You look like you’ve got a lot going on in that pretty head of yours. Penny for your thoughts?” he asks.

“I was just thinking about Sam,” you say absent-mindedly. Dean frowns, and you realize how that sounded. “I—”

He takes a step back, away from you. “Should I be concerned that you’re thinking about my _brother_ right now?”

Without hesitation, you grab his hand and pull him back in. “Dean, I was thinking about how I wish we had more time alone. _Without_ Sam. Just the two of us, so we can be together. Sex or no sex.”

Dean’s lips fall open, and a faint blush paints his cheeks. “ _Oh_.”

You grin at him, scrunching up your nose, and swing your joined hands. “I was also thinking about how soft this blanket is.”

He barks out a laugh and bends forward, hiding his warm face in the crook of your neck. “God, I love you,” he whispers, the prickly stubble of his five o’clock shadow tickling your skin. You giggle and tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling his face up enough that you can press a soft kiss against his lips.

“I love you too, Dean,” you say, brushing the back of your hand along his warm cheek, dotted with beads of sweat. You kiss him again, and he pulls back after a moment, making you pout — that is, until he quickly tears his thin white shirt away from his body, leaving his chest bare apart from the dark tattoo below his collarbone.

Your teeth pull instinctively at your bottom lip as he moves towards you. Gently, Dean pushes until your back is flush against the comforter, and he hovers over you, mouthing above the neckline of your shirt. His lips attach to the spot where your neck meets your shoulders, and his tongue darts out and presses against your skin. You let out a broken moan, fisting your hands into the sheets. “De-e-an…”

He’s half-way down your body now, staring up at you with sparkling green eyes as he pushes your shirt up above your breasts and grins ferociously when he sees that you aren’t wearing a bra. His lips circle your left nipple, teeth nipping at the hardened nub. You hum quietly at the muted pleasure it brings, like tiny sparklers of lust. 

He moves on quickly, bringing his mouth to your right nipple and tugging on it before trailing his lips down your ribs. Dean helps you lift your shirt up and over your head before continuing his ministrations on your abdomen. You let out a sharp breath when his tongue dips into your belly button, and you slap his shoulder playfully. “Dean!”

“Hush, you love it,” he teases. He blows a raspberry on your stomach, and you dissolve into giggles, momentarily distracted from the dampness between your legs. He shuts you up by hiking your skirt up and pressing his thumb over your clit through your panties.

“O- _oh_ ,” you mewl as he rubs you, squirming to chase the pressure. He pulls his hand away, clicking his tongue. You roll your hips, trying to follow, but he’s too far already.

He smirks. “Hard to believe I was the one who started this, huh? You’re already so desperate, beautiful.”

“Can you fucking blame me?” you mutter, aching to bring your own hand down to touch yourself but barely resisting. “If I didn’t know you were the Righteous Man, I would call you an ass.”

He doesn’t respond to that remark, choosing to instead peel your soaked panties down and over your legs, exposing your bare cunt. Your skirt follows, and suddenly you’re completely naked and Dean Winchester is mouthing at the spot where your thighs meet your pussy. He bites down hard, and you ~~wonder~~ hope he left a bruise so you’ll remember the feeling of him between your legs tomorrow — not that you won’t remember it in other ways. 

“For the love of whoever the fuck is god, Dean, can you please get to it already,” you groan, frustration blooming in your chest. His nose brushes your clit, and you let out a high-pitched whimper. That seems to make him take pity on you, because he dives right in, covering your cunt with his mouth and sucking with his lips and tongue. You arch up into him, a lightning bolt of pleasure bursting through your stomach, and you moan lewdly into the sex-smelling air. It’s filthy and wet and beautiful.

“I… f-fuck, Dean,” you growl, punctuated by a series of sharp gasps, “I fucking take it back, _you_ are god."

“Yeah?” he replies, hoisting himself up on his elbows so he can tease a finger against your folds before sliding it neatly into your drenched pussy with barely any resistance. He curls it upwards, rubbing pleasure out of you until you can barely keep your eyes open. “That’s nice of you to say, sweetheart, but I won’t be a holy man tonight. Not when there’s such delicious sin for me to enjoy.”

His mouth returns to your clit, sucking as his fingers pound unrelentingly into you, and it’s barely a minute later that you’re on the horizon of something untethered. Your fingers twist warningly into his hair. “I’m… I’m gonna…” 

“That’s it, baby,” he says, shoulders flexing powerfully as he practically carries you on his fingers. “Come for me. Come on my fingers. Let me take care of you.” You try to keep your eyes open, but a fire explodes beneath them that forces your head back into the bed and makes your legs quiver. The pleasure that has been bubbling through your body bursts into a blaze of sensation, and you think that even if you could open your eyes, you wouldn’t be able to see. Dean fucks you through it with his thick fingers, although you can barely feel them anymore through your clouded mind, until suddenly you _can_ feel, and you feel it _so much_. You tug his head away from your pussy, spent and gloriously overstimulated.

Eyes still shut, you feel a soft pressure against your lips. You open them to see Dean, thumb pressed against your mouth, slick with your own cum. Obediently, you suck on his finger, tasting yourself on it. Satisfied, he leans over and presses his own lips to yours for a quick kiss. “How was that?” he asks cheekily.

“I hate you,” you lie, still panting from your orgasm. “I hate that you’re so good at that.”

He scrunches his nose adorably before shaking his head. “No, actually, I don’t think you do. At least, it didn’t sound like you hated me when you shouted for half the town that you were going to c—”

You cut him off by pouncing on him, energy seeping back into your body accompanied by a renewed lust that you would be lying if you said ever actually dissipated. You cover his mouth with yours, fingers dipping down below his waist to rub at his erection through his jeans. “My turn,” you hiss, squeezing the tantalizing bulge. “And you bet I’m going to make this as hard for you as you did for me.”

“Is that a- _gnuhh_ , is that a threat or a…. o _h..._ a promise?” he bites back, grinning as you grind your palm against him, sucking on the sensitive spot behind his ear. Your hands unzip his jeans, and he helps you get them off while you travel your lips down his neck. You take a moment to curl your tongue around each of his nipples, eliciting a sharp mewl. 

“Oh, it’s a threat,” you answer, biting down on the hardened nub. He hisses and grasps your hair, tugging you off, but the fire of lust in his eyes betrays how much he liked it. Nevertheless, you continue down, pressing soft, feather-light kisses to his skin — not just to frustrate him, but that is an added bonus. When you reach his hips, you do exactly what you know will drive him mad: sliding your mouth over his swollen cock through his boxers.

It gets you just the reaction you wanted — a litany of curses flood deep from his throat, and his arm falls helplessly onto the bed with a loud thump. You decide to have mercy on him after that and tug his boxers down and off his body, leaving him naked and flushed for only your eyes. His pink cock gleams with precum, and the hard crevasses of his body are slick with sweat and your saliva. 

You’re just looking at him in all his glory when you look up at him and see utter, pure adoration in his eyes. It must be exactly how you’re looking at him, you muse. It’s not just sex — it never was. It’s something bigger and better, and you’re thinking of this when you lick a stripe up his cock before taking it into your mouth, and it tastes salty with sweat and precum and skin. It’s perfection.

You swipe your tongue over the head, sucking lazily and watching as Dean’s eyes fall shut with pleasure. You wonder if you’re as good at this as he is — it seems almost impossible when you think back to the strength of your orgasm just minutes ago, a wonder that you didn’t pass out. Almost competitively, you take him down to the base so the head hits the back of your throat, humming to send vibrations up through his cock, and the filthy growl he lets out makes you believe you might be better than you think. You bob your head up and down, spit dripping from your lips and coating your cheeks and chin. 

He pulls you off after a few minutes, and you grin triumphantly. “Already close?” you tease, biting your sex-swollen lip. Dean curls a hand loosely around your throat, not squeezing but rather caressing it with his fingertips. He doesn’t reply to your provoking, only looking at you in that soul-baring way that makes your heart want to beat right out of your chest. Dean has always been a tender lover, and you’ve barely been able to survive it.

You kiss him. He kisses you back. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, and he turns you both so you’re laying back against the bed again. “This is all I ever wanted,” he whispers into your neck, the weight of his body comforting you like a blanket. He strokes along your sides, declarations of great things in his touch, and hikes your legs up over his hips. Even now, after all this time, he looks right into your eyes and asks for consent, and you happily give it. 

Reaching down, Dean guides his cock into you, sliding in with one thrust of his muscled body. Your own body takes it easily like his cock was made for you, and the stretch inside you burns without pain. His pelvis presses up against your clit, and your mouth blabbers a string of mindless words with some confessions mixed in that you’d been meaning to keep to yourself but that you don’t mind sharing when you see the elation spread across your man’s face. He fucks into you, cock stroking every inch of you, balls slapping against your ass in an utterly pornographic mess.

He pounds into you like that for what feels like ages and yet still not enough time, impaling you on his cock. It drags you right back up to the precipice, but you don’t want to come yet — no, you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of making you come twice before you make him come. You’re going to bring him right there with you, and you’re going to fall apart to the look of utter bliss on his face. Dropping a leg, you flip him over, swallowing the shocked parting of his lips with your mouth as you ride him. The eased pressure on your clit makes it easier for you to control yourself, but Dean smirks and grasps your hips, rocking you back and forth so his cock presses against your walls in just the right places with every thrust. You curse him out loud, and he laughs, flipping you back over. Point, Winchester.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he grunts, fucking into your wet folds. “I’m… I’m right _there…_ w-with you.”

Your eyes light up. “I knew I was good!”

“ _That_ was never… _ever_ a question,” he shoots back, and the both of you are done talking. His thrusts become longer and deeper as he gets somewhere — you can see it in his eyes — and you finally let yourself build it too. When he finally comes, it’s with a shout that carries the very essence of his being, and you were right in that it sends you right past the edge and over three others. He buries himself deep inside, and you let out sharp breaths as you feel him fill you up, and suddenly the hard tips of his fingers are smearing wetness around your clit and rubbing in just the right place, and waves of pleasure flood over your body like ebbs and flows of pure energy. Your back arches off the bed, and he catches you in his arms, and his mouth is on your breasts, and you're lost and found at the same time.

Your breathing syncs with his as the two of you come down from your highs. His elbows cave, and he rests his weight gently on top of you. You pull your fingernails out of his arm, smoothing over the crescent-shaped marks and pressing sweet kisses to any part of him that you can reach. After a moment, he pulls out of you, his softening cock resting against your thigh, cum pooling under you, but neither of you bothers to wipe it away. That’ll suck tomorrow, but all you want to do right now is sleep. With the last of your energy, you grab at the comforter on either side and pull it over the two of you, which is hard because you’re on top of it, but it’ll have to do to wrap you both like a cocoon. 

Turning so you’re facing him, you watch how the moonlight caresses half his face and cowers from the other. You think about how it suits him, to be half in the light and half in the dark, the way he’s lived most of his life. Except, you love both sides — you kiss both sides, from eyes to cheeks and back to lips, without another word, because you both already know, and you drift off to sleep, cradled in love.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Um, okay so I've never written smut before... that was quite the experience. I'm thinking of making this a series but I'm not sure. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Also, side note, the story doesn't mention protection but always be safe! 
> 
> Love,  
> Rosie


End file.
